A Mideast Trek to Self-Discovery

Tourists by Lisa Goldstein (Simon & Schuster: $17.95; 256 pp.)

“Tourists,” Lisa Goldstein’s fourth novel, follows the exploits of a middle-class American family during their study leave in the imaginary Middle Eastern nation of Amaz. Goldstein achieves some bold and original strokes, but her book falls disappointingly short of her talent.

The best part of “Tourists” is the often very clever story line. Prof. Mitchell Parmenter, accompanied by his wife and two teen-age daughters, goes to Amaz for anthropological research. With the aid of an ancient manuscript, he hopes to locate the infamous Jewel King’s sword.

Meanwhile, other members of the family experience their own odysseys. Claire, Mitchell’s alcoholic wife, locates the Super Shop with her numbing well of liquor. Their daughter, Casey, studies the Lurquazi language and makes friends with an aging sage and fix-it man. Angie, the detached older daughter, burrows in her bedroom, where she continues creating an adventure story she and Casey began conjuring in the States.

“It was one of those days, then, when Angie would not come out of her imaginary kingdoms. The kingdoms had been fun as recently as last year, but now that Casey was 14 and Angie 15, Casey thought it was time to put them away. But when she’d told Angie a few months ago that she was no longer interested in playing, there had been fires in Borol, Angie’s country, plagues and invasions in Marol, Casey’s country, and at the end of it the two kingdoms had declared war.”

One of the nicest touches in the novel is the way Goldstein manages to weave together Angie’s “made-up” story with the Parmenters’ experiences in Amaz. Goldstein also makes some sharp observations about the insensitivity of Americans traveling abroad.

Casey shines as the most engaging member of her troubled family. A bright, energetic youth, she presents a lively contrast to the abstracted academic father; the bitter, retreating sister, and the oblivious, drunk mother. Goldstein is familiar with the traditional dynamics of denial and co-dependence within the alcoholic family. Sometimes, however, the Parmenters seem more like roles in a textbook about addiction than fully developed, idiosyncratic people. The half-resolution of family differences at the end of the novel is even more implausible than Mitchell’s path to the Jewel King’s sword.

Not surprisingly, the Parmenters learn more about themselves than about the country they are visiting. This is partially because Amaz, itself, is something of a cliche, complete with violent Communist rebels invading from the hills and a turbaned cult keeping mysterious vigils.

The individual citizens of Amaz, at one point described as “Third World,” remain shadows at best, and frequently slip into offensive caricature--from Dr. Jara, the rigid and inscrutable scholar, to Zem, the inept, disfigured spy, to Mama, the antique dealer who reproduces so frequently that by the end of the story she is thinking about having a 13th child by a 13th man.

Eventually, Mitchell’s search for the Jewel King’s sword coincides with his literal and metaphorical discovery of his daughters. The climax is a fast-forward double exposure of the Keystone Kops and the Lone Ranger.

“Mitchell followed Jara as he ran through the empty streets of Amaz, trying hopelessly to understand what had just happened. Who was that woman, so large that she seemed to fill an entire window, and how did Casey know her? Had the woman kept the sword all this time? Had Casey known? If so, why hadn’t she told him? And his other daughter, Angie--he could never forget the way she looked as she stepped toward him and handed him the sword, the way she seemed to shine with a light to rival that of the sword’s. She had been smiling a little too, the first time he could remember her smiling in years. Had he misjudged her, written her off too soon?”

Goldstein has given “Tourists” all the basic elements except time. The potentially interesting characters never emerge as credible, multidimensional people. The setting, which has some fine evocative touches, is too thinly sketched.

The writing is sloppy, showing inattention to grammar and syntax as well as revealing a redundant fondness for the word gotten . The style problems--such as imprecision with vocabulary (using nauseous for nauseated ) and geographical detail (the Bay Bridge runs between San Francisco and Oakland not Berkeley)--lend a rushed feeling to the narrative.

While the burden of such complaints falls on the author, one begins to wonder if this book had an editor. Goldstein’s obvious intelligence and imagination could be stimulated by some frank literary direction.

Next time she might want to consider writing a few more drafts, giving herself room to play with language, contemplate her ideas and get to know her characters. One hopes there is a next time because Lisa Goldstein is a writer with impressive potential.